Intoxicated
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Movie-verse. The 74th Hunger Games, Effie and Haymitch, Effie's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Intoxication

Summary: Effie and Haymitch have an ... encounter of sorts, the night before the first day of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Effie's POV, part one in a series.

Author's Note: I read the books a while ago and have finally gotten around to seeing the movies. I was blown away with what amazing work they did adapting the novels to the screen and I was on board with most of the changes they made, including giving Effie a more prominent role. I also noticed something I hadn't picked up on in the books – chemistry between Haymitch and Effie! It's been on my mind so much that it's gotten to the point where it pretty much demands fanfiction. This is my first writing foray into this fandom, so do let me know how you think it went!

He's certainly not what she expected.

She's tried to prepare herself, told herself not to be too disappointed – after all, the real him couldn't possibly match the image of him she'd built up in her head. She was a child back then, when he had his Games, the Second Quarter Quell, she was very young – too young, really, to be exposed to such brutality, but the Games were required viewing in the Capitol as much as they were in the Districts. But young as she was, she stills remembers those games vividly, remembers watching them, hanging on every moment sometimes frightened, sometimes thrilled, but never bored.

The fact that boys and girls not that much older than her were fighting and dying in that Arena – it sounds strange and horrible to say, but it never struck her, not then. It never struck any of them. Yes, they rooted for their favorites and pined a bit if they lost, but their deaths … their deaths seemed unreal. It was like … it was like hearing that a friend of friend was dead, someone whose name you knew but met only once, someone who's face you couldn't quite recall. There was a strange surrealism to the Games, and she had never been able to reconcile the thrill of watching them with their underlying sadistic brutality … until she became an escort.

But that's getting ahead of things.

In any case, the Second Quarter Quell was inked indelibly on her memory. The beautiful, deadly Arena. The sheer number of tributes – twice than what was normal. And of course, the boy, the cocky, brash, handsome boy, who would emerge as the unlikely victor.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Years after his games, when she herself was a teenager, she used to lie awake at night and pretend… of course, she was from the Capitol, she would never be reaped, but even still…

But oh, to be quick and clever and brave, like Maysilee! The girl who forged alliance with Haymitch, who earned his respect, his admiration … perhaps even his affection?

He must have loved her, Effie thinks. Or at least cared for her, the way he went running towards the sounds of her screams, even after they had broken off their alliance, the way he held her hand as she died.

She could, and did, weep at the idea.

It was all so frightfully romantic!

In time, she grew older. She still smiled, and talked of nothing serious, as her mother had always taught her do. But she saw things, and she realized things, and she knew when she decided to take the job as escort, assigned to District 12 but with every intention of working her way up, that her childish … crush on the victor of the Second Quarter Quell was just that, childish, and unreal, and it was well past time she put it away.

Still, that didn't mean she had to be rude.

Though when she first met him, it was a bit of struggle to remain polite.

He was dirty and disheveled, reeking of booze and in need of a bath. She ignored this and smiled brightly, holding out her hand and informing him that she was to be his new escort, his partner in preparing "their tributes" for the Games. She saw his face twist into a sneer, saw the contempt in his eyes, and her smile faltered.

It disappeared entirely when he slapped her hand away and brushed past her, nearly stumbling, leaving a sour smell behind.

She drew her lips into a thin line.

"Well," she said, "All right then."

And thus all her illusions about him were shattered.

At least, she hoped they were.

Their first Games together were a nightmare, to say the least. The two tributes were young scrawny things who ate like animals, and when Effie tried to – gently! – chastise for their lack of etiquette, Haymitch growled at her to shut up, and she had to leave the room because she really could not take any rudeness that day.

Later, when she realizes so many out there in the Districts are starving (something they never see in the Capitol), she will be feel ashamed.

But that night, she just felt insulted.

Later, when their tributes get slaughtered in the first few hours, the Games suddenly feel far more … real to her. Far more horribly, savagely real than they ever have before.

Effie gave a little gasp as their girl goes down. Beside her, Haymitch let out a contemptuous snort.

"Don't act like you care."

Effie didn't even look at him. She just went to the bathroom and threw up.

She tried not to think about it. Her mother always said, don't think about things to deeply, to probe and poke and prod at things, just glide on the surface, serene and smooth, and smile.

That's best way to live, she had said. Because someone is always watching.

And if Haymitch noticed that her smiles grow tighter and the makeup didn't entirely cover the hollows under her eyes after another sleepless night, he didn't say anything.

But the next year, when their girl was decapitated and their boy died screaming for his mother, he started handing her drinks.

"Thank you," she whispered each time, always one to remember her manners.

"Whatever," he muttered each time, always one to forget his.

On their way back to 12, he did say something to her, though. Something that stayed with her.

"You're the first one, you know," he offered, without looking at her.

"The first one?"

"The first Escort that's stayed more than a year since I became a mentor."

Effie took a breath, ignoring, the strange, giddy feeling his words bring on. "Well, that's not entirely surprising. You're not very easy to work with."

He chuckled. "Oh, now you're being rude."

"I'm being honest, Haymitch. I thought you'd appreciate that."

"So … I'll suppose I'll be looking at a new escort next year, then?"

He said it carelessly, as if it doesn't matter at all to him. She was sure it didn't.

Still …

"You suppose wrong. It's my job to be an escort, and I've love to move up, but if I can't, I'm staying right here … as long as they'll let me."

"Why?"

He actually looked at her then. No sneer, no smirk. Not very drunk yet. He seemed genuinely curious.

"Because I'm stubborn, I suppose. I'm … I'm not a quitter."

He snickered at her resolute look, saluted her mockingly with his glass, but as the train came to a stop and he staggered off it, he paused, turned, and looked at her.

"See you next year, Effie."

"See you next year, Haymitch."

As the train sped back to the Capitol, she let out a breath she didn't even known she'd held in.

The next year is the 74th Hunger Games, and this year is different. She can feel it, as soon as Katniss Everdeen volunteers. She sees a girl as brave as Maysilee and as stubborn as Haymitch. And in Peeta, she sees someone who knows how to charm, and smile … in short, someone who knows how to play the game on a whole different level. Later, Peeta will say how "everyone knows" Katniss is the one who has a shot at winning, but in that moment, with the two of them standing beside her, Effie thinks they both have the potential to be Victors.

She tells Haymitch as much, later, and for once, he seems to agree with her.

Which is why it's very irritating when, the night before the start of the Games, she finds him drinking himself to oblivion in his room.

It's not that this is unusual behavior for Haymitch, and it's not that she exactly begrudges him his indulgences, though she does wish he wouldn't drink so much. It has occurred to Effie, in the times when she forgets to stick to surface things and probe a little deeper in her thoughts, that watching your friend die and surviving and then having to watch other children from your district die might just drive a man to drink. But tonight is different, because tonight is the night before he can officially start finding the Sponsors, and while Haymitch has never been charming, a relatively sober Haymitch is apt to get Sponsors much easier than a surly, hungover Haymitch, and she has no intention of letting this chance to win slip through their fingers.

She knocks sharply on his door, calls him name repeatedly, and then marches in when he ignores her. He's sitting on the bed, bottle in hand. He's pretty drunk but still lucid, it seems.

"You know, for someone so stuck on manners, you'd think you wouldn't be barging into my room uninvited."

She ignores this, though she does feel a twinge of discomfort. It's hard for her to be impolite.

"You can't be drinking like this Haymitch. Not now. First thing tomorrow, you need to be out there getting Sponsors, and –"

"Relax. Loosen your corset." He'd said that to her earlier, and she'd frowned at him, thankful her layers of makeup hid her blush. "I got Sponsors last year, and we hardly a prayer."

"You barely got any Sponsors." Effie retorts, "And the ones you got were only because I helped you."

"_Officially_, you're not supposed to help me get Sponsors. Falls outside your … job description."

"_Officially,_ I didn't," she replies and they share a small, conspiratorial smile, a rare and (though she's loathe to admit it) treasured moment.

"But Haymitch, this year is different. You know it is. They might actually have a chance…"

She trails off, and looks away from him, knowing they are both thinking the same thing, that they can only save one of them, not both.

"I know, Effie." He sighs. "But excuse me if I think I'm a better judge than you of how much liquor I can handle." She turns to find him taking another swig. "I'll be fine."

"Oh come on Haymitch, that's enough – I said that's enough!" Before she can even think of what she's doing, she snatches the bottle from him. She stands there, almost trembling at her own boldness, while his expression grows dangerous.

"You better give that back," he snarls.

She holds the bottle behind her, hoping her voice doesn't crack as she says, "No."

Haymitch leaps from the bed with surprising dexterity. She starts backing away, and before she knows it, he's got her pinned against the wall, wresting the bottle from her and taking several swigs before tossing it carelessly aside.

"You shouldn't have done that." He hisses, his eyes dark.

And then something … shifts.

Effie becomes very aware, suddenly, of how close they are, how they are pressed up against each other. She becomes aware of the firmness of him, the muscle and strength that all the years of booze haven't quite managed to wear away, and she becomes aware of his hot breath on her neck.

She thinks he becomes aware of it, too.

"I told you," he says, "to relax."

His lips move to her ear, and his hands slide down her back. His fingers seem to play down her spine like it's an instrument. Effie forgets to breathe.

"To loosen your corset."

His hand slides lower.

"Or maybe you'd like me do it for you, mm?"

He nuzzles her neck, and she tingles from head to toe. His lips graze her collarbone, and when his tongue darts out to tastes her skin, she lets out an involuntary moan.

He laughs. "Oh well now, look here, little Miss Prim getting all hot and bothered over an old drunk."

"Bastard."

He tuts. "So rude," he says mockingly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to … reprimand you …"

His lips claim hers in a hungry kiss, and she forgets it all, propriety and Sponsors and everything, and when his tongue demands entry she grants it, and oh, she thinks she could just_ melt, _he tastes like booze and sweat and sex, and she _wants_ him, she's_ always_ wanted him…

The train gives an uncharacteristic lurch, and they break apart. He flops onto the bed.

Haymitch laughs, more drunkenly, this time, seeming unfazed. "Saved by the train."

"You shouldn't have kissed me." She whispers, trembling in both voice and body.

"Yeah," he agrees. "You kissed me back, though." He gives her that infuriating smile.

"I'm … leaving. Goodnight, Haymitch."

"Too scared to stay?"

At the threshold, she turns to back to him. She can see herself, going back to the bed, the two of them in a tangle of limbs, kissing, touching, joining …

She grips the door frame to keep from running back.

"No," she replies archly, her voice surprisingly steady. "Too smart."

For she is not Maysilee Donner, a brave and clever girl from District 12. She is only Effie Trinket, a silly, superfluous Escort girl from the Capitol, and Haymitch will never see her as anything other than that, even if he takes her to bed. And somehow, the thought of sleeping with him, knowing all that, is more unbearable than the thought of not sleeping with him, no matter how much she wants to. At least this way, he might retain some shred of respect for her … if he ever had any to begin with.

"You'll forget all this by morning anyway, Haymitch."

"Maybe," he says to her retreating back, "Maybe not."

She forces herself not to look back at him, and shuts the door.

The next morning, he says nothing about it. He's either forgotten or pretended he's forgotten; either way, she has no desire to revisit what happened. Things go on between then much as they have before, and if she sometimes imagines he's looking at her differently, well … she imagined many foolish things about him, years ago, when he was her victor, he hero … and she was as wrong then as she is now.

But at the end of the 74th Hunger Games, when they watch Peeta and Katniss with the berries, just before they're announced as winners, she and Haymitch are watching, and when Effie begins to cry, thick tears rolling down her cheeks and smearing her makeup, he slips his hand into hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Gilded

Summary: Haymitch's POV on Effie through "Catching Fire," up to and including Effie's "rescue" from The Capitol.

Author's Note: All typos with henceforth be blamed on drunk Haymitch! But on a more serious note, I'm a little nervous about writing from his point of view, so let me know if you think I captured his voice at all.

Effie Trinket is annoying.

This is what he takes from his early experiences with her. Her outfits are ridiculous, her hair is frightening, and good lord, the woman never stops _talking_, how can she possibly keep going on that long without using up all the oxygen in the room?

When they first start "working together," he focuses on hating her, as he usually does with the Escorts that are sent his way. It typically works out well, in that he never has to see their smug, powdered faces again. Of course, the down side is that there is always another smug, powdered face to replace the previous one next year. Still, he takes a grim sort of pleasure in driving them away, a bitter sort of pride in his reputation for being "difficult."

Usually, hating the Escorts is an easy task.

But when he hears the sound of Effie Trinket throwing up after their tributes fall, he has a feeling that this time it might take a little more … focus.

So he reminds himself that she doesn't actually care, that she's just like the rest of the Capitol scum, stupid, soulless, weak.

Then the next year, when she returns, her jaw clenched in resolution, he thinks he might have to cross "weak" off the list.

In their second year, for some reason, he actually starts listening to Effie's chatter and begins to realize that (at times) she may actually be saying things of significance. She knows the social politics of The Capitol, she knows the gossip. More importantly, she knows who has money, and who needs an excuse to spend that money, and who might even take a long shot by sponsoring the kids from District 12.

He puts his drink down and listens to her. She notices this, and blinks at him confusedly, unaccustomed for to having his attention.

"Effie?"

"Yes, Haymitch?"

"Let's get to work."

Effie introduces him to the right people and tells him the right things to say. He hates having to smile and talk with them, but in the end, he gets some money, and it just must help him buy something to make one of the kids live a little longer.

He thinks he's done until Effie grips his arm.

"Haymitch?" She whispers theatrically.

"What?" He huffs. He's been at this long enough, he needs a damn drink.

"You see that man in the corner?"

He follows her gaze to a middle-aged man in an outfit that make's Effie's look subtle.

"Don't scowl," Effie hisses at him. "Do you know who that man is?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Do you know how much money he has?"

"Now that, I _do _care about."

Effie begins feeding him information in a low voice, and before long, he's strolling towards the man, with Effie on his arm. She makes the introductions smoothly, and then excuses herself at just the right moment, and in the end, he gets enough cash to send both the kids some potentially life-saving gifts.

They still die, of course, but they last a lot longer than anyone from District 12 has in a long time.

Well, now he has to cross "stupid" off the list too. There's a brain under all that (fake) hair. Huh. Who knew?

When he tells her she's the first Escort who's stayed with 12 since he became a Mentor, she informs him that she's not going anywhere, and …

It's getting a little harder to hate Effie Trinket.

But he'll work on it. She's still plenty annoying at least.

Their third year … Katniss and Peeta. For once, he actually has a couple of fighters on his hands. He knows it, Effie knows it. His money's on Katniss, but he won't count Peeta out either, because the boy is so damn _likeable_, and he knows just how to play to the cameras and the crowd.

Effie takes to them both, but she dotes on Peeta in a way that's almost … motherly.

He starts to think he might have to cross "soulless" off the list.

_Damn._

He needs to drink.

Which is what he's doing the night before the Games when Effie barges into his room. It's a surprising breach of etiquette for her, which means she must be fired up about something.

She starts lecturing him about Sponsors. He doesn't mind so much, the barging in, or the lectures, but when she grabs his bottle, that's when she crosses the line.

How they end up pressed against each other, with Effie's back hitting the wall, he can't quite figure out.

She smells good.

She also looks pretty good, despite her ridiculous outfit and layers of makeup. Effie Trinket has a damn nice body – how is he just noticing this now? Oh, who is he kidding, he noticed before this alright, he may feel half-dead most of the time but he's still a man after all, and she's attractive, and infuriating, and he wants to ruffle her feathers, and he doesn't much care if he takes it too far.

She's trembling in his arms.

When he kisses her, she opens her mouth and lets his tongue slip in.

_Uh-oh. _This may not have been his brightest idea …

Maybe he should stop.

Or maybe he should just throw her on the bed and take her. She's warm, and soft, and it's been too damn long since he …

But the train intervenes, and she walks out on him, though he can tell she wants to stay.

She says he'll forget this by morning.

He doesn't, but figures the wisest course of action is to pretend he did.

When Katniss and Peeta triumph, she hugs him. She still smells good. Why does she have to do that?

He tries to remember what's left on his list of things to hate about her.

He can't think of anything.

He needs another drink.

Effie is her usual bubbly (annoying! he means annoying!) self at the start of the Victory Tour. They settle in, but when she tells Katniss she's "earned" her time in the spotlight, he knows it's the start of trouble.

"By killing people!"

"Young lady…" Effie begins, but doesn't have the chance to finish, as Katniss stalks off, followed closely by Peeta, and for once, Effie falls silent.

It's disconcerting.

"Effie…" He begins.

"It's … it's alright." She says softly. A pause, and then, "I know she had to do some … unpleasant things to get here, but … she won! She won the Games! She deserve to get something for all she's been through… I just …"

Haymitch sighs. "Effie… nobody ever really ever really wins the Games. There are … survivors … but there are no winners, not really."

He doesn't know what's compelling him to be so frank with her. He reaches for his glass.

Another unnatural bout of silence. He starts to think he should leave, but then she speaks again.

"Is that how you feel, Haymitch? Not like a Victor, but just … a survivor?"

He doesn't look at her. "Pretty much."

"You deserve better." She says it so softly he almost doesn't hear her.

"What?"

"You deserve better than to just … survive. You were so … so amazing when you won your Games –"

"Don't talk about my Games!" He snarls, and she winces. "Please," he add more softly.

"It's … it's just … you're my Victor too, Haymitch. And I'm … proud of you."

_Ridiculous._ That's a ridiculous thing to say.

But somehow, he doesn't even feel the urge to laugh at her.

He keeps his eyes focused on the table, on his glass, as she rises, and he hears the click of her heels as she walks towards him. Her scent surrounds him as she hesitantly lays a hand on her shoulder and then, after a moment, gives it a squeeze.

He says nothing, doesn't look at her. But he puts his hand on top of hers.

The Victory Tour comes to a merciful end, Peeta proposes, Katniss accepts, and of course, they wind up at the Presidential Palace. Effie wears another ridiculous outfit, he drinks, and finally, finally, it's time to go back to 12. It's over.

Or so he thinks, until Plutarch Heavensbee approaches him, and the world explodes.

And then, the Third Quarter Quell.

After he spends his rage, he knows the only thing he can do is keep the Mockingjay alive.

Unfortunately, that involves lying to her.

And she's not the only one.

The next time he sees Effie is the day of the Reaping. She's got on this silly … butterfly outfit. Butterflies are not something he's too fond of, not since his Games, but these ones don't look like the ones in the Arena, these look like real butterflies, not Mutts, he thinks they're called …Monarchs?

Her wig this time is relatively more natural-looking, a sort of … golden color that he thinks might resemble what he imagines her real hair to look like (not that he's imagined it, lying alone in his bed, or how it would feel, running through his fingers) and she looks …

Well, she looks about as miserable as the rest of them.

She says Katniss' name, as she must, and then…

"Haymitch Abernathy."

Does she stumble a little bit over his name, or does he imagine it? He can't tell if she's relieved, or scared, or …

But it doesn't matter, because Peeta volunteers, and there's no way to stop him.

Later on the train, Effie says, "I've had a thought."

"You don't say," he snipes, but she only looks at him with a little smile, as if knowing he's gently teasing rather than expressing his contempt for her (sometimes he's not sure himself which way he means it).

She talks about tokens, and gold, and how they're a team, and …

_Damn it._

He reaches for her hand, feels it warm in his own, and then he lets go.

On the eve of the Games, she presents him with a gold bangle, a surprisingly simple, almost elegant token. He was worried it might be something more … ornate.

In any case, it gives him an idea.

Peeta gets his medallion, and Effies hugs both of them, tells them she's proud, tells them she's sorry.

He wonders what it exactly it is that she's sorry for.

Does she know that she too has blood on her hands?

He gives his last pieces of his advice, and leaves them to themselves.

When he returns to the main room, Effie is already gone. Apparently, she's retired for the evening, to continue crying alone.

He thinks about going to talk to her, then thinks about what might happen if he did…

He takes another drink.

The next morning, they sit side by side, eyes glued to the television as the Games start to begin. We she sees the Arena, Effie gasps.

"That is no place for a girl on fire."

He's inclined to agree.

The only good moment is when Effie catches sight of the gold bangle Finnick is sporting.

After the action dies down in the Arena, she turns to him with a look of indignation.

"You gave your token to him?"

"Relax Effie." _Loosen your corset. _"I've still got mine." She looks dubious, so he shows it to her, tucked under his sleeve. "I had another one made. So Katniss knows she can trust him."

"Can she?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Effie purses her lips. "Well, all right then," she says. He rolls his eyes, and they both turn back to the screen.

Just in time to see Peeta hit the force field.

Effie screams.

They both watch, transfixed, as Finnick tries to revive him. Effie has put her hands to her mouth, as if to stifle the anguished whimpers that still escape from her.

When Peeta starts breathing again, she begins sobbing in relief.

He doesn't quite know how it happens, but he's got her arms around her, and she's buried her painted face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she keeps saying.

"Shh, Effie, shh, it's okay…" It's not. But it's Effie, so…

Eventually, she quiets, and their tributes sleep, and so do they.

At least, they must have. Because when he wakes up from a surprising lack of nightmares, Effie's still curled up by his side.

Well, this is …

Her makeup is all smeared, and he can see her real skin shining through, soft, smooth. She looks … younger somehow. He wig is crooked again, and he wonders if he could just slide it off, see what her real hair looks like…

He's contemplating that notion when she shifts, and her eyes flutter open. "Mm. Oh. Oh!" She looks up at him in wide-eyed bewilderment.

But she doesn't move.

He swallows. "You fell asleep," he mutters.

She smiles. "Looks like you did, too."

Her hand brushes across his cheek …

And Katniss starts screaming that the fog is poison, and then they're both too busy watching to think of anything else.

The next night, it happens again. He's not even sitting that close to her, but somehow, they wind up curled together on the couch. Forget sex (okay, not really, but still) it's been so long since he's even had _this_, the simple, reassuring warmth of someone beside him. Since he's clutched another person to him instead of a bottle or a knife.

It's the best sleep he's had in a long time.

The third night, according to the plan, it's time for him to go.

And the third night, once again, she's curled up in his arms.

"Effie," he mutters, and she stirs, opens her eyes, looks at him trustingly.

"Effie…" He could tell her. He could tell everything, and …

And what? Take her with him?

No. He can't. Not now. She's a Capitol Citizen. She's been tracked from birth, though she may not even know it. He doesn't have the time or the tech to undo her trackers. If she comes with him, they'll find them all, and the revolution dies.

"Effie, I … I gotta go take care of something."

She looks down, and he knows she thinks he means drinking. "All right," she says softly.

"I'll see you later. Get some rest."

Before he knows what he's doing, his lips are pressed against her forehead. Effie blushes prettily. _Damn her._ There's nothing left, there's nothing left to hate. Where the hell does that leave him?

That leaves him with her, with silly, annoying, infuriating Effie Trinket, and soft and sweet and sleepy and stupidly, so stupidly believing what he says.

He eases himself away from her, instantly feeling the lack of her warmth.

"Hurry back," she murmurs, and sinks into the cushions.

"Effie?"

"Hmm?"

"Be careful."

"Mmm. You too." She's already sunken back into sleep.

She doesn't know what he meant.

But it's all the warning they can give.

Later, when he's in the hovercraft with the others, and Katniss' strangled cries of "liar" won't stop echoing in his ears, Heavensbee approaches him.

"I need your input," he says.

"On what?"

"Oh who from the Capitol we need to extract."

He names everyone on the prep teams, and when Heavensbee informs him that they're all dead, he wishes desperately for a drink.

They were stupid and silly. But if they're dead, does that mean…?

"What about the Escort?"

"Trinket? According to my contacts in the Capitol, she hasn't been found. They went to her home, but she wasn't there." His eyes narrow, as if something is just occurring to him. "Did you tip her off?"

"No."_ Not really._ "But Effie's smart."

He raises an eyebrow, but does not make any other comment. "So you think we should extract her?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "She's the closest thing to a prep team we've got right now. She'll know how to make Katniss look good for your … propos."

"You think she'll go willingly with an extraction team?"

The question hangs in the air.

_We're a team … aren't we?_

He reaches under his sleeve, and hands Heavensbee his token, the gold bangle, a gilded symbol of Effie's foolish faith in him.

"She will if one of them has this."


	3. Chapter 3

Sobered

Summary: Effie's and Haymitch's reflections during "Mockingjay – Part I."

_Effie_

So, this is what rebellion looks like.

Who would expect it to be so … drab? And dull?

It wasn't dull in the beginning, to be sure. She remembers it all in bright, unpleasant flashes – waking up and realizing Haymitch was nowhere to be found, watching Katniss shoot that arrow, the screen going dark, the sick feeling in the pitting of her stomach … and running. Running, running, running, through the chaos in the Capitol, knowing she was a target, knowing all her friends were targets, Venia and Flavius…

And Cinna. _Oh, Cinna._

She knew he was doomed. The minute Katniss revealed that mockingjay outfit, she knew. She tried to lie to herself, she tried to smile, but she knew what would happen.

He had been in on it, the plans for the revolution. He had known all along. Haymitch … the rebels had trusted him.

Not her.

She remembers the District 13 extraction team, one of them sporting the gold bangle, hope flaring warm in her chest, a dangerous thing. She remembers leaving behind her wigs and her dresses and her shoes and her makeup, feeling … bare. Stripped down. All her flaws and frailties are exposed now. There's nothing to hide behind.

Is it any wonder then, that she stays secluded in her dreary, tiny cell? She can hardly walk among these … cave dwellers … looking like this!

She wonders if Haymitch has even asked about her. Then she hates herself for wondering. She's seen Plutarch several times, but she hasn't asked him about Haymitch. She doesn't care. At least, she doesn't _want_ to care.

She spends a lot of her time trying to work with the dismal materials they've provided, fashioning outfits that make her feel more like herself again. She keeps her hair covered, because letting someone see her real hair would feel like walking around stark naked.

The rest of the time, she spends pouring over Cinna's sketchbook, marveling at his brilliant, treasonous designs. She's decided she's going to keep looking at it until she can do so without crying.

It's not that she doesn't feel the loss of the prep teams as well, but Cinna, Cinna was so …special. So different from the rest of them. He had such a … gravitas. And he was such a fast friend.

She remembers when they used to talk, when she would complain to him about how difficult Haymitch was. He was so patient when she rambled on…

"Effie, relax. You don't have to worry about Haymitch. He likes you."

She had laughed. "Haymitch doesn't like anyone."

Cinna had only smiled. "He likes you."

"Well he has a funny way of showing it then," she huffed.

Cinna had chuckled. "You know how he is."

"I can't say that I do. How is he?"

"Scarred. Like the rest of them."

She wishes Cinna were here now, for so many reasons, not the least of which as she really needs someone to talk to.

As it is, all she has is Plutarch, working on her, wanting her to the Mockingjay's Escort. He says she needs someone familiar.

"What about Haymitch?"

"He's drying out in a facility two miles down."

Oh, that has to be awful. She feels a rush of sympathy for him. For a moment, she wants to ask if she can see him, but she checks herself sharply. She should focus on Katniss, not that old drunk.

And it is wonderful to see her again. Even if she does have to confirm for her that Cinna is dead.

She doesn't see Haymitch until Katniss' propo, as it is becoming rapidly obvious that their approach isn't going to work. She turns, startled by the intrusion of his presence.

"And that my friends, is how a revolution dies."

Well, he certainly looks a little worse for the wear.

Not that she cares.

So they all go back to the drab board room and brainstorm, and he seems to be actually listening to her. Hm. There might be advantages to a sober Haymitch.

"You know I like you better Effie, without all that makeup."

Her heart flutters in her chest. She can't help herself, she's wondered what he makes of her now, so exposed, so plain, all her accoutrements missing.

"Well, I like you better sober," she fires back.

He turns and looks at her.

Oh, but his expression is priceless!

They decide to send Katniss into combat. She wishes she could protest, but it makes sense.

As they all start to leave the meeting room, he pauses by where she's sitting, and he feels the gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder.

"Good to see you in one piece."

She flashes him a smile. "You too."

She tries to remember why she was angry at him. She can't seem to recall.

_Haymitch_

He almost can't recognize her.

No makeup. He never thought he'd see the day.

She has really nice skin.

He wishes she'd let her hair down…

Well. That hardly matters now.

Damn, he needs a drink. He really hates this forced sobriety.

Though he supposes it's a little better now. Some of the withdrawal symptoms have faded - at least he's not shaking anymore. He was pretty much dead to the world. They called it drying up, but it felt like he was drowning. Every twinge, every pain, physical or otherwise, that he had numbed with the booze – they all came to vivid life in his mind and his body with a terrifying intensity. His Games, Maysilee, the death of his family – all the ghosts come back to haunt him, and there are new ones coming along for the ride. Peeta, Katniss …

And Effie.

He doesn't even know if she's alive.

Until they bring him back the gold bangle. Then he knows.

He clutches it like a lifeline, the sharp edges digging into flesh and making him bleed, the pain at least a distraction from the shaking and the nightmares and the screaming of his body for alcohol.

She's okay. She's okay.

And she's not wearing makeup.

Dressed in drab gray.

She's never looked more beautiful to him.

He wishes she'd let her hair down…

He needs a drink.

It's hard enough for him to see Peeta on the screen. Damn, the boy looks bad. He can only imagine what Katniss is going through.

When Peeta gives the warning, District 13 goes even deeper underground.

And when he's down there with the rest of them, he doesn't see Effie anywhere.

He starts looking for her.

He passes Katniss and her family. They're playing "crazy cat" with the flashlight.

"You seen Effie?"

Katniss shakes her head, frowning slightly.

"I'm sure she's here," she says uncertainly, as if trying to convince herself more than him.

He moves on, trying to fight a rising panic.

He needs a drink so bad …

He finds her in a bottom bunk, sitting with her arms curled around her knees, and the relief is overwhelming.

"Effie." He says it softly, but she still starts.

"Haymitch," she breathes. "You're alright!"

He smiles. "You're alright too."

Another missile hits, and the room shakes.

Effie winces, then gives a nervous little laugh. "Oh, I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

"I don't think anybody could." He hesitates, then sits down beside her. When she reaches for his hand, he doesn't pull away.

And when the next tremor hits, she's curls up into him, and the familiar warmth of her almost makes him forget the burning desire for alcohol.

"I missed you, Haymitch."

"I misse you too, Effie."


	4. Chapter 4

Entangled

Summary: What I hope will happen between Effie and Haymitch in Mockingjay – Part 2.

_Effie's POV_

Finally, something to celebrate!

Goodness knows, there's been precious little to be happy about. It should have been a triumph, liberating the Vcitors, and Coin and Plutarch certainly put their best spin on it. Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta seem more or less intact, but … Peeta.

Oh, poor Peeta. Dear sweet boy. What have they done to him?

It's almost worse than if they'd killed him. It's like they've robbed him of his soul. His kind, gentle soul, he was always such a thoughtful boy, willing to do what it took to win the Games, but ultimately so full of compassion, and full of love for Katniss, despite knowing that she may never be able to love him back in the same way…

And she certainly knows what that's like…

Banishing the thought, Effie tells herself to focus on the positive. They have reunited at least one couple. Finnick Odair's "heartthrob" persona may have caused the Capitol not to play up his connection to Annie, like they did with Katniss and Peeta, but anyone with eyes can see how deeply those two are in love. He seems to be literally unable to let her go, it's actually quite touching to see the two of them, just the way they look at each other…

In any case, they are to be married, and not in the usual drab District 13 fashion, where the couple just gets assigned new living quarters. They're to have an actually wedding, with cake and flowers and everything. After making some protests, even Coin saw the necessity of this. At the very least, they'll get some propos out of the footage.

And for the first time in forever, she has an event to go to…

Now, if only she had more wardrobe options…

And more makeup…

And her wigs…

As if on cue, she hears Cinna's voice in her head. How he used to tell her, "Less is more" (who ever heard of such a thing?). How every year he tried to get her to show her natural hair, even offering to style it for her. How he told her she was beautiful underneath it all, and how _someone_ would notice if she just let him …

Sometimes, she misses him so much it hurts. Her friend, who knew how she felt about Haymitch without her having to say anything, who didn't make judgements, who just offered her his ear and his shoulder and his unconditional support.

So maybe she should take his advice…

_Haymitch's POV_

Stupid wedding.

Waste of time. Waste of resources.

He thought he got out of attending "society functions" when he fled the Capitol, but it appears he was wrong.

And there won't even be any booze …

He feels surly and childish. He shouldn't be so annoyed by this thing, he knows. He doesn't begrudge either Annie Cresta or Finnick Odair their happiness, the poor kids have been through enough, they certainly deserve a little peace. But he hates these kind of things, he always has, ever since his Games, and the more happy, smiling people he sees, the more he thinks of Peeta, trapped in his own mind…

They say he's making progress, whatever the hell that means. They even let him make the cake for the wedding. But he's still not back, he's still not their Peeta, and he doesn't know if he will ever be. It's worse than if he died, and the rage against the Capitol boils in him, and all he wants to do is to drink himself into a stupor and curl up and sleep it off in some dark corner…

But instead, he's here, dressed up, or as dressed up as you can be in Thirteen, waiting for a wedding to begin.

He wonders vaguely where Effie is.

He wonders how outlandishly she will manage to dress…

Might be worth attending this thing, just see that.

Even if there's no booze.

Although he looks around, he doesn't see Effie as the wedding begins. He knows she's got to be here – she loved these things during the Games, she's probably in her glory that she's finally got an event to attend again – but apparently she's not dressed too ridiculously, at least not enough to stand out from the crowd, which is, unsurprisingly, a lot of gray. Formal wear isn't exactly a priority around here, and although some people, mostly the refugees, have managed to scare up dresses and ties, most people are in the standard jump suits. But still, they are smiling, excited, and generally happy for the young couple and the rare opportunity to celebrate something.

And he must admit, when Annie makes her appearance, she looks quite lovely.

She's in one of Katniss' old victory tour dresses. Someone – Effie, probably – has modified to make it look more wedding-appropriate. Her hair is flowing and loose, and she clutches some flowers. But it's the beaming smile, the utter happiness on her face that really makes her light up. And Finnick, peacock and preener that he is, is even more captivated by it than the general public. For once, he's not the center of attention, and Haymitch is sure he couldn't be more pleased about it.

The ceremony is simple and heartfelt. Afterwards, there's cake (Peeta really did a good job), and dancing, not like the formal waltzes in the Capitol, but more boisterous. He sees Katniss dancing with her sister, and she flashes him a smile. He hasn't seen one of those from her in a while.

He hopes they're getting this on camera. Happy Mockingjay dancing and laughing, that's bound to make Snow's blood boil…

"It's good to see her smile, isn't it?"

Effie's voice seems to come out of nowhere. "It is," he admits, his eyes still on Katniss, and then he turns. "So where have you …."

_Well damn._

Effie is … not in a gray jumpsuit. She is also not in one of her ridiculous Capitol outfits. She's … she's somewhere in between, he can't quite describe it. He dress is pink and a little frilly, but not excessively so. Her face isn't powered white; he's sure there's some makeup, but her natural skin tone is there, shining through. And then …

And then, there's her hair.

Her real, actual hair.

No wig, no scarf. Damn it if he doesn't actually feel himself start to get red in the face. It's like seeing her naked, or something …

Her hair is blonde, as he imagined it to be. It's thick and wavy and framing her face and he cannot fathom why she felt the need to always keep it hidden under those garish wigs…

He has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out and touching it.

Effie clears her throat self-consciously, and pats her hair.

"You look nice, Haymitch."

Silence.

"You know, it's rude to stare."

It takes him a minute to find his voice. "Well you know, I was just thinking … Boggs owes me ten credits. He was sure you were bald."

Effie laughs and hits him, and he feels like he's starting to recover his balance.

"Unless of course, that's a wig too?"

"No, it's real." She hits him again, playfully.

"So what made you decide to...?"

"Oh, just an old piece of advice I haven't followed until now." From Cinna, probably.

"Well, it looks … you look … fine."

She raises an eyebrow at him and he works hard to keep his face straight. "Fine?"

"Yes, fine."

She purses her lips.

"Nice?" He offers.

When she starts to walk away from him, he catches her arm.

"You look beautiful, Effie. You … look, you know you're gorgeous all right? Stop fishing."

There's no layers of makeup to cover her blush.

"Thank you," she mutters, always one to remember her manners. They stand there, always, his hand still on her arm.

He needs a drink. He can't handle this sober. Effie, too close to him and smiling and blushing and looking like this. It's ridiculous, he's too old and too lost and too bitter to feel…

"You wanna dance?"

"Yes," she answers before he's quite finished asking.

So they dance, in a foolish, haphazard sort of way. Faces whirl by, the happy couple, Kantiss twirling her sister, and he gets that sort of feeling he used to get when he was just pleasantly buzzed and his energy was still high.

Afterwards, they sit and talk for a bit.

"That was …"

"Fabulous?" He teases gently, and she gives him a knowing smile. He's never given Effie enough credit for knowing when he's poking fun at her.

"Exactly. And it was good to see Katniss smile."

"Yeah, it was."

Her expression grows more serious. "Speaking of which, any news on Peeta? I heard he made the cake for the wedding. That has to be a good sign, doesn't it?"

The hopeful tone in her voice is not something he wants to be responsible for crushing, but he's not going to lie. "I don't know, Effie. Sometimes I really feel like they don't know what they're doing, and they just say things to make us feel better."

"Well, Plutarch said it was new terrain." He can tell she's working hard to keep her tone upbeat.

"Reverse high-jacking … I don't think it's even been done before."

"Well, neither has a successful revolution in Panem. Any yet, here we are. Are you telling me we should lose hope just because no one's done it yet?"

He turns to look at her then. Her gaze is clear-eyed and determined. She's changed, she really has. Or perhaps it's just her true self that's been unleashed. In any case, it's more than just the clothes and the lack of make-up and the bare head. He always knew there was intelligence behind her silly chatter, he always knew there was compassion behind her smiles at the reaping, and he always knew there was strength behind her delicate sensibilities. He just hasn't let himself fully see or acknowledge it until now.

Her eyes search his. "What?"

"I think … you make a good point, Effie."

He reaches for her hand, squeezes it. She squeezes back.

It takes them a minute to realize they're practically the only ones left in the hall.

"Well, I guess the party's over."

"Hmm," Effie says. She looks at him thoughtfully. "Haymitch?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you … walk me back to my quarters?"

He clears his throat. "Yeah sure okay."

They walk in silence until they reach her room.

"Well," Effie says, too loudly and brightly. "Here we are." She turns to him. "Thank you for the dance. It was very polite of you. I know would probably have rather not have …"

"Well you know, it was … tolerable."

That knowing smile. Infuriating. And this infuriating woman could break him, with just with a smile.

"Well," she pauses, and then, as if working up her nerve, leans in and plants a kiss at the corner of his mouth, so quickly he has no time to react.

"Goodnight Haymitch," she whispers, turning quickly, and he's so dazed that's she got the door halfway closed before he stops her.

"Effie –"

When she turns, he kisses her full on the mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair at last.

He remembers when they kissed before, when he was drunk on the train and she was a bundle of nerves. This kiss isn't like that kiss, clouded by alcohol, against his better judgement. There are no barriers between them anymore, no reasons he can find to push the feelings down and try to hate her, and when she moans into his mouth, he pushes them past the door and into her room.

And all he can think is _finally._

"Haymitch," she breathes, his name both a plea and a demand on her lips. "Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymithch."

For once, Effie has little else to say, just soft sweet sighs and gasps and moans as they uncover each other. She's so damn beautiful, all of her, every part of her, he wants to take his time, but he want to take her _now_…

And when they are joined, she clutches him to her and cries out like she will never let him go.

Afterwards, they lay side by side, catching their breath. When Effie curls into him, his arms go around her automatically.

"Okay, so … that happened."

Effie giggles. "It certainly did."

"I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too."

He looks at her. "Really?"

She shakes her head. "Oh come, that can't surprise you."

"Well, there was that night on the train."

She bites her lip. "I didn't think you remembered that."

"Oh, I remembered all right. It just seemed … impolite … to bring it up." He grins at her embarrassed look. "I did kind of wonder though…"

"What?"

"Why you didn't stay."

She looks away from him then, takes a deep breath. "Because I didn't want you … like that." She mutters. "When you were drunk and angry and looking for a distraction and any girl would have done. I wanted … to matter." She dares to look at him then. "I wanted to matter to you."

He feels his heart thud painfully in his chest. For so long, for so many years, he's avoided… entanglements. Avoided getting his life mixed up with someone else's, kept himself isolated, kept himself drunk, kept himself away from things like…

"You matter, Effie. You mattered then, and you matter even more now. You matter to me … a lot."

She smiles at him. "Good," she says and kisses him. "You matter to me too."

And she nuzzles his chest and settles in for sleep, content. She does not press him for anything else.

Effie has always been smarter than he's given her credit for. She won't ask for the declarations that he's still too scared to make.

_Oh, but if he were to lose her now…_

His grip on her tightens. "I'm right here," she murmurs, as if reading his mind. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not," he whispers, as they lie there together, a tangle of limbs, and his grip on her does not loosen, even when he finally falls asleep.


End file.
